The Psychology of Little Brothers, and Other Kids
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: I Believe the Children Are Our Future missing scenes and tag: Sam knows what he wants, but Dean knows what he needs.


**The Psychology of Little Brothers, and Other Kids**  
K Hanna Korossy

"I think I've found a case."

Dean set the two plastic bags down on the table next to Sam's laptop and glanced over at him before starting to unload containers of food. "Oh, yeah?"

Sam's eyes were still glued to the screen. "Deceased teenage girl, half of her skull is scratched through. Coroner said it looked like something tried to 'claw its way out.'" Sam sprawled back in the chair, lifting an eyebrow at his brother.

Dean's lips flattened as he nodded. "Okay, sounds like our kind of thing. Where is it?"

"Nebraska. Town called Alliance. I looked it up—it's near the Wyoming line."

"Nebraska, awesome. Buckle of the Bible belt." Dean dropped into the chair opposite Sam and popped the lid on his meatloaf, wasting no time shoveling in a hefty bite.

Sam gave him an uncertain look. "I can look for something closer if you—"

Dean shook his head, talking around the food and enjoying Sam's grimace at the sight. "Naw, it's cool. Brain-eating skullbursters—sounds fun." Belatedly, he reached over and nudged the second Styrofoam container toward Sam.

Sam hesitated before picking it up, then peered into it like he was afraid there was a skullburster inside.

Dean tilted his head. "Pulled-pork sandwich—that's one of your favorites."

"Yeah, I know, I'm just…" Sam's mouth quirked and he seemed to switch gears. "Guess I'm not very hungry."

Dean's face darkened. "Sam—"

"No, I'm…I'll eat it. It's fine." He took a tentative bite.

"Got you one of those fancy French donuts you like, too."

"Thanks," Sam said quietly.

Dean kept a thoughtful eye on him through the rest of the meal, making sure he ate every crumb.

00000

Sam walked in at the end of Jimmy's confession, staying back and not messing with the play Dean had going. By the end of it, his eyebrows were almost up to his hairline, and Dean was feeling more than a little smug.

"Can I go now?" Jimmy asked in a small voice, shrunk down into his seat.

Dean refocused on him, and he put a hand on the kid's shoulder, reassuring instead of heavy this time. "Jimmy, I want you to listen to me—Amber dying, it wasn't your fault."

"But I put the itching—"

Dean cut him off with a simple look. "I'm serious, dude. Okay, so what you did wasn't too cool—you're not gonna do it again, right?" At the kid's frantic shake of the head, Dean nodded back with an equal amount of calm. "Good. But you didn't kill her. She had some—" He glanced up at Sam a moment, weighing his words. "—issues. That's not your fault—you did _not_ kill her. Okay?"

The kid practically sagged in his seat. "Okay," he whispered.

"All right. So, we're done now—get out of here, go play some video games, hang out with your friends."

Jimmy wasted no time sidling toward the door past Dean, then Sam with a quick, awed upward crane of the head. Sam offered him a weak smile.

Dean waited until he was gone, then turned to Sam. "So, you hear all that?"

"Enough." Sam shifted, frowning. "Hey…how'd you know it was him?"

Dean shrugged. "Kid looked like he was going to crap his pants any minute. Kinda the way you look these days," he added after a moment's consideration.

Sam's face pinched.

"No, that's your bitchy face," Dean said absently as he glanced around the room, then rubbed his hands together. "So. We done here?"

00000

Two of the kids had parents sitting next to their hospital beds. Probably telling them everything was okay, although considering the guy down the hall whose face looked like it was out of some cartoon… Dean shuddered. Maybe the plastic surgeon he'd overheard talk of could help, although he kinda doubted it.

A third boy was by himself, however, curled up small in the bed. The pediatrics ward was painted in bright colors, with pastel curtains on the windows that streamed in sunlight, but there still seemed to be a spotlight of gloom on the young patient.

Dean eased down on the edge of the bed, letting himself slouch both to minimize his height and make this a little less formal. He'd already stuffed his tie into his pocket. "Hey," he said gently.

The boy looked up. He had thick black hair, as long and curly as Sam's but darker. Brown eyes studied Dean solemnly from a face that was pale and bruised from illness. "Hey," he answered timidly.

"Teddy, right?" Off the kid's nod, Dean held out his hand. "My name's Dean."

The boy's grip was pretty solid considering he wasn't more than seven and was in the hospital for a bleeding ulcer. "Are you a doctor?"

"Sort of. Only, I help kids get better by figuring out how they got sick in the first place." Dean nodded at Teddy. "How'd you end up here, kiddo?"

The kid's gaze sank back to the bed. He looked too small to be alone in a hospital, and Dean's mind shied away from a few pointed memories. "Chris dared me."

The whisper was so tiny, Dean had to lean forward to hear it. "Chris, huh? What did he dare you to do?"

"Mix pop rocks and Coke." The small mouth twisted fretfully. "I knew it was stupid, I'm sorry."

Pop rocks and Coke, seriously? But Dean quickly hid his disbelief. "Hey." He waited until Teddy's eyes cautiously lifted, then gave him the most sincere look he could. "It's not your fault—candy and Coke can't make you sick like that. Now, Mentos and Diet Coke…" He cleared his throat when the kid stared at him. "Never mind. Point is, this was just bad luck, buddy—it wasn't you. And the doctors here, they're gonna fix you up as good as new. Okay?"

"Okay." It was muted but trusting.

"Okay." Dean patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Are your folks here?" he asked casually.

"Think so. They went to get coffee or something."

"Great. You take a little nap, Teddy, and I bet they'll be back when you wake up."

The boy nodded and closed his eyes.

Man, kids were so easy. They hadn't learned to put up defenses yet, were honest unless you gave them a reason not to be, and trusted to a fault. Treat them with respect and a little kindness, and they would believe you if you told them the sky was pink. Or that you didn't blame them for something.

Sometimes he still wished Sam was that innocent.

Dean sighed and set off down the corridor. He had to go regroup with Sam after his interview with Toothless, but first he was going to find some parents and make sure they hightailed it back to where they belonged.

00000

Jesse was too old for his age.

Yeah, the kid believed in tooth fairies and lethal joy buzzers and a dozen other stupid kid-sized urban legends. But the way he studied their badges and never cracked a smile and was cooking friggin' _soup_ on the stove… Dean glanced over at Sam and saw the sympathetic recognition in his brother's face. This kid was _them_, forced to be a grown-up too early, to take care of himself because his parents weren't around to do it.

And he still thought his dad's word was law, even when it was something as crazy as a tooth fairy with a beard and a beer belly. Yeah, Dean was feeling a little camaraderie with the boy, too.

It made it even easier to get through to him.

Dean saw the moment the kid believed him, his world view minutely shifted by one earnest adult who wasn't talking down to him. A simple "Oh. Okay," and a deadly device was a harmless toy again. Dean tapped the buzzer against his leg, then, without even a glance, reached over and pressed it against Sam's chest.

He could feel Sam jolt, giving him a stupefied look, but all Dean had eyes for was Jesse as the kid finally, actually laughed.

It wasn't a cakewalk after that—a demon jumping into the mix didn't help—but when Jesse vanished that evening, spiriting himself back below the supernatural world's radar, Dean found he wasn't too worried about what the kid would choose. He'd seen in Jesse's eyes that they'd gotten through to him, and that Hellboy would do the right thing with that information.

Just as easily as he could see his brother's doubts in Sam's eyes.

00000

Julia was, understandably, kind of a wreck after she woke up. Thank God Jesse's parents were still under Cas's whammy upstairs, because the unpossessed woman's panic would've woken them up for sure. But Sam seemed to have her in hand, swamping the small woman's figure in a reassuring embrace, and Dean gratefully left him to it, trailing Castiel outside.

"You all right?" he asked with a sideways glance at the former-action-figure angel.

Castiel stood facing sprawling fields and a dawning sun. "Yes. He could've struck me down with a thought, but instead he was…merciful."

Dean gave those same fields a rueful smile. "Yeah, well. Now you get why we didn't kill him."

Castiel turned back to him, his face disturbed. "I hope you're right about him." And then with a flutter of wings, he was gone.

Dean closed his eyes, feeling the deep ache in his bones. Being tossed into walls had gotten old years before, but the whole invisible windpipe-crushing was new and exciting. With the still-healing injuries he'd gotten on their last hunt, he felt battered and…old. "I hope I am, too," he murmured, swaying a little on his feet.

A big hand that could belong only to one person wrapped around his biceps and steered him to the porch chair by the door. Dean sat down heavily in it, dropping all pretense that his head wasn't killing him as he leaned forward to rub his temples.

"Y'all right?" Sam asked above him.

"Yeah," Dean said tersely. "How's Julia?"

"Washing up. I think she'll be okay—think it kinda gave her some closure, actually, in a weird kind of way."

Dean hummed an acknowledgement, then dropped his arms and sank back in the chair. Sam was standing almost where Cas had been a minute ago, staring out over the Turner farm, hands in his pockets. Dean took in the tense lines of his back, the way Sam's chin was dipped down, and wearily opened his mouth to say…something.

"What were you talking about before, about hoping you are too?" Sam asked before Dean could muster the voice.

He had to think a moment to remember what Sam was talking about. "Oh. Jesse. Cas said he hoped I was right about leaving the kid alive and trusting him to do the right thing."

Sam's head nodded once, drooping even further.

Dean made a face. "So, you gonna tell me what you've been chewing on all day?" he asked mildly.

Sam half-turned to give him a look. "Uh, getting sent to kill a kid who might be the anti-Christ? Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Something was up with you before that, dude. You've been jacked ever since we met Jesse, when we didn't even know what he was."

Sam turned away again, his shoulders curled forward, a picture of dejection silhouetted dark against a brilliant sunrise. "It's not about Jesse," he muttered finally.

Dean blinked. Then flinched. "Aw, man, you're not still bellyaching about that joy buzzer thing, are you? Sam?" he added forcefully when Sam's jaw tightened. Dean swore under his breath. "Seriously, you think I would've zapped you if I hadn't been sure—like, 100% positive—that it wouldn't nuke you? Even tested it out first, but I already knew—"

Sam whirled at that, startled and angry. "You what? Dean—"

"Just—" Dean held up a hand before things could spiral any more out of control. "Shut up and listen to me for a minute."

Sam's expression was mutinous but his mouth clamped shut.

Dean would take what he could get. He pulled in a breath, feeling his bruised windpipe constrict and aching lungs strain against battered ribs. "Ever since Canton, I know you've been waiting for a beatdown." Sam's mouth opened again, and Dean ruthlessly cut him off. "Don't try to deny it, man—I know you, okay? I can tell you keep expecting me to poison your lunch, or take off during the night, or choke you out when we're sparring."

Sam's whole body flinched.

"But it's not gonna happen, Sam," Dean finished quietly. "I'm not—well, yeah, okay, I'm mad, but not at you, not anymore. The past is past, and we've got plenty of things out there to fight without going after each other, too. I'm done with that, all right? It's done."

Sam was watching him cautiously, like he was trying to figure out what the catch was. Dean's heart sank; Sam didn't get it. Or, worse, he didn't believe it, and Dean didn't know how to make it any plainer. If Sam still didn't get it…

Sam pulled his right hand out of his pocket and held it out, face sober but maybe just a little bit hopeful.

Dean lifted an eyebrow. "Really, dude?" They'd shaken on it, even kinda hugged on it earlier—only because emo-Sam needed that—and it hadn't seemed to do much good. But Sam was still standing there, impassively stubborn. With a sigh, Dean reached out to take his hand.

And nearly fell out of the chair when something zapped his palm, clear up into his arm. He sputtered what he was pretty sure was an unmanly yelp and jerked back.

Sam gave an honest-to-God cackle of laughter and held up his hand, palm out, to reveal the buzzer nestled between his fingers.

Dean gaped at him. "Son of a—"

"Hey, that's your mom, too," Sam admonished mildly, still grinning, completely unrepentant.

"Fine, _you're_ the bitch," Dean grumbled, rubbing his palm along his leg.

"Whatever. Jerk." Sam shook his head. "We should take Julia home. Stay there, grandpa—I'll get the car." Dean didn't even have time to argue before Sam was jogging down the steps, toward the Impala they'd parked haphazardly down the road in their haste to beat Castiel there. It looked farther in the morning light than Dean had remembered.

He'd known Sam wanted to pay penance and earn his forgiveness. Just as Dean had known it would never feel like enough for his brother, nor would any assurance from Dean that they were okay. Not that he was one to go all hearts and flowers, anyway. The whoopee cushion, Sam's razor, the joy buzzer: that had always been their kind of _I love you _and _I forgive you _and _we're good_, a dialect spoken only with family. He'd just been afraid Sam had forgotten it, that Ruby and Lucifer and the last few months had taken that from them, too.

The smile started small but grew quickly as Dean kneaded the tingle out of his hand and watched Sam maneuver the car to the bottom of the porch. Dean still had it; he still had some brotherly mojo left. Despite all the changes and tensions between them, he'd still understood Sam and had gotten through to him.

And, even better, Sammy remembered his native language just fine, too.

**The End**


End file.
